Short Stories from the Adare Gundogs
by Pixo
Summary: A collection of short stories from the Adare Gundogs - Infantry Regiment, Imperial Guard.
1. Author's Notes

Authors Notes:

A few years ago, the _Adare Gundogs_ was my first attempt at writing 40K fanfic. I liked it. And a few of the characters still hold a special place in my heart. Sikney and del Tarn in particular. I'd like to think my writing has come along way since then. Recently, I found some old stories on a back-up drive, and after a brief touch up, I have added them to original short. Have a read, and, if you feel the need. Throw a comment or two my way!

Happy adventures in reading and writing,  
Pixo


	2. Birth

**Birth**

~ O ~

Colonel Dorn Sikney waited outside the Lord Generals office. He sat stiff backed yet relaxed, reading a data-slate. At his side was his robust aid, Senior Sergeant Godwynn Lamm. The two were strangely similar, yet different. Both wore their number one dress uniform, the scarlet red of Beligarso Grav-troops, with skill and pride. Both had medals and campaign ribbons attached to their chests, both had scars to prove their bravery. They were even armed some what alike; Sikney had a powersword and ornate laspisol, while Lamm had a chainsword and heavy autopsitol.

The differences were Sikney was a small wiry fellow with dark hair and even darker eyes while Lamm a massive, muscled bound man. Lamm ritual shaved his head each morning. Moreover, Lamm had a sullen and morose look to him, while Sikney seem to always a mischievous glint in his eyes, and a hint of smile on his lips.

An aid, dress in the red and white livery of the Lord General, stepped out into the waiting room, and said "The Lord General will see you now." And move aside to hold the door open. Sikney handed Lamm the data-slate he was reading and the pair marched into the room, halting just inside the great doors threshold; both slammed their jack-boots down in unison, the sound ringing off the stone of the ancient fortress.

The room was what the Lord General joking called his _Den_, it was a massive stone floored chamber, and the ancient stone walls were covered with lumo-torches and war banners. All around the wall were computer consoles and wired servitors. Dozens of people busted about, carrying data-slates or rolls of parchment, comparing notes and talking softly. The center of the room was dominated by an enormous dark wood table. Around the beautifully crafted table sat some the most powerful men in the sector. The Lord General, Ramesis, stood at the head, even though there was a large comfortable looking chair right behind him. Running down the length of the table eleven other men; five generals, two fleet admirals, three senior tacticians, and a well aged, robed man, sitting directly to Ramesis's right. The Lord General's senior war staff.

The lord general looked up and waved Sikney over; Sikney gave Lamm a curt nod and marched to the foot of the table. Lamm waited by the doors, stiff at attention. When Sikney reached the table he slammed his boot down, throwing a sharp salute, "Colonel Sikney, reporting as ordered, my Lord General." Sikney said in a strong, confident voice.

"Colonel Sikney, welcome" The lord general replied and saluted back. "I hope your trip here was blessed by the God-Emperor."

Sikney dropped him arm to his side, "Due to Him on the Golden Throne I had a safe journey."

"Excellent, most excellent, do you care for refreshment?"

"I do not, Lord General."

"Let's begin. Foz Magna is under duress, it seems some locals have felt the call of the darkones to strong to resist. They signaled the Imperial Guard and asked for deliverance. I have rushed the three closest units to Foz Magna, the 17th Rykins Division, the First Merity Astro-Deepers, and the First Adare. However, the Adarians have a problem. No senior officer. Planet Adare has raised this regiment to fight of the Emperor of Mankind, upon my command over tens months ago. Some of the men have serviced in the local planetary militias, however, that could hardly be called combat experience. Moreover, none could meet the requirements needed to make senior officer. And that's were you come in Sikney. You are to report to this planet, assume command of the regiment, oversee their embarkation and proceed with all do haste to Foz Magna. Any questions?"

"No sir."

"Sikney you were selected for this by on recommendations forwarded to me by your commander. And as you have no regiment to return to, it seems you answer to me now. Do you have any concerns with that?"

"No lord general."

"Good. Dismissed, a shuttle is waiting for at the spaceport. Emperor's grace and speed go with you."

Sikney, stomped his boot, saluted and marched from the chamber.

~ O ~

"Well what does everyone think?" Remesis asked his assembled warlords.

There was silence as everyone gathered their thoughts. General Vazmoor replied first, "At least he was economically with his words." Smiles and light laughing. Most of the others just shrugged.

"And you?" Remesis asked the withered old man next to him.

A long silence hung in the air, "He is blessed, for better or worse." Was all the old-one would say.

Remesis nodded and for a moment looked towards the heavens, the returned his gaze to the men around him, "All right lets get back to business."

~ O ~

As the shuttle rose swiftly, the vast city and mountainish hive towers were left behind, a billion billion little lights twinkled off into the horizon. Sikney watched until the city was blanketed by the omnipresent clouds that hung in the atmosphere.

'Sir?" Lamm's question breaking Sikney's reverie

Sikney had been tight-lipped, both figuratively and literally, since they had left the Imperial fortress, and Lamm was curious to know what was going on.

A large, friendly smile crept slowly and uncontrollably onto Sikney's face, he then punched one fist into the palm of another, "We're back in!" he yelled.

~ O ~

Three week's space travel later, Sikney was aboard the frigate _Last Hope_ in high orbit above planet Adare. He stood in an observation bubble facing planetwards, he watched the great blue and green orb rotate slowly. His legs moved with nervous energy. He could not help from pacing, muttering to himself. He could not concentrate on the data-slate he was reading. He had a great many concerns to occupy his mind. His chief worry being the quality of men he was about to take command of.

He knew, from his research during the past week, that Adare had never raised an Imperial Guard regiment in its two thousand year history. The planet was sparely populated and only semi-industrial, considered primitive by most. There were three main continents/ political entities, each named after their capitol city; Antigua, Ektelon, and then the vast Tan Azrul archipelago, making up the third main political power bloc on the planet. Adare's chief export was live stock. They bread a short, heavy, and nearly invulnerable sheep-like creature called a Moak. The planet itself was rugged, made of tough hilly regions, thick forests, and vast savannas.

There had never been any major, or even minor, figures-of-note to emerge from the planet; no works of art, not great composers, no warriors, nothing, in the great Imperium of Mankind, it could have never existed and no one would have noticed. Save the God-Emperor himself.

"Excuse me Colonel your shuttle is ready," said a navy officer, who manifested seemingly out of the bulkhead. Sikney nodded and the navyman departed. Sikney tapped his vox-link, "Lamm, let's go."

There came a beep, "Everything is already set, sir. Your personal affects have already been loaded on the shuttle, and we await you in dock secundus." Lamm replied quickly.

Sikney smiled, it seemed he was not the only one eager to get back to fighting.

When Sikney and Lamm flew over the capital building, a massive tower brisling with weapon turrets and antennas, it was well into the Adarian night. The shuttle landed on a platform near the top of Adare Tower, the capital building of Antigua. Antigua, the first among equals on Adare, and home of the planetary governor. This city was vastly different from the one he just left. He could clearly see an end of the city, where the night lights ended, and an empty vast darkness began. And all though he could not see them, he was sure stars shone brightly above Antigua.

Sikney, wearing his dress reds, marched down the ramp, Lamm two steps behind him. They were greeted with a cordial, yet not extravagant, greeting. The planetary governor, Bula, dressed in dark blue and red robes, with massive fur cloak draped over one shoulder, and several dozen other important looking people waited. A five piece band played, but the effect was ruined by the roar of the shuttles engines turning down and general racket of the loading dock.

The Governor strolled out to meet him. Bula was a large man, tall, board, with a large gut and a massive grey beard. Tattoos decorated his bald head. To Sikney he looked more like a barbarian chieftain of old, then a planetary governor.

"Greetings Colonel Sikney!" Bula bellowed, "Welcome to Adare!" His voice was tough, husky, with a hint of warmth. Like the voice of a tough, yet loving father would use. Bula towered over Sikney, who by any standard was a short man, by at least twenty-five inches. The giant gasped Sikney's arm in a warrior's hand clasp, wrist to wrist.

"Thank you Governor Bula, I am pleased to be here." Sikney's voice, by contrast, was strong and confident, yet light.

Bula grunted, and turned to an aid, he took a small item from him and turned back to Sikney, "A gift from the people of Adare." He lowered a small, quivering canine.

Sikney took the animal with grace and smiled, "I am honored." He held the dog out before him, and thought he had seen larger, meaner looking louse. The dog did not weigh more the seven pounds, had very short grey hair, protruding eyes, and large testicals. He was beginning to think it was a subtle insult.

"That's a field ratter, a baby one. They're a noble breed, with a history as long as our own. I'll have to tell you about it some time."

"I'd be pleased to hear it." Sikney said, handing the animal to the quiet, waiting Lamm, who took the animal with no-to-do, and gently tucked the quivering canine under his arm.

"Come, come, we feast tonight! In the morning we'll over look the Gundogs! I think you'll be pleased with them."

Although the colonel was well within his rights to demand to see the troopers this very second, he was a conscious enough politician to know when to demand, and when to compromise.

As he settled into his room Sikney recalled what Bula had called the Guardsmen, he had called them _gundogs_? The governor had called his own Imperial Guardsman, Gundogs, and had said it with genuine respect. In his own past experience most planets tried to reinforce an air of class or valor or at least respect in the armies that fought in the God-Emperor names, save for the mother-killing hive-scum regiments and worthless penal legions. What type of troops would he commanding? If the governor or his retinue were anything to go by, most likely barbarians, or feral savages, a far cry from his previous Beligarso troopers.

While Sikney went to attend the feast, Lamm was off getting things in order for the review tomorrow. Priority one being, securing them both First Adare uniforms. The feast hall was enormous. A u-shaped table large enough for a hundred dominated the center of the room, real fire places, each large enough to park a tank, were set on the walls, they burned real wood. Various animal skins and war banners hung on the walls, dozens of blue and red robed attends moved throughout the room, carrying food to the table, removing plates, refilling wine glasses. Many exchanged laughs and jests with the men they were serving.

There was a notable lack of servitors. When Sikney asked about this, Bula told him Adarians did not like to the 'served.' There were no servants on Adare, everyone had to work to eat, a tradition set by the first colonists. More importantly, they served the God-Emperor, to be served is to think one-self the Emperor. And that is sin. The men and women catering to the planets most powerful leaders were all honest, hard workers.

Sikney had a place of honor, the right hand chair to Bula. He had eaten a hearty meal; the starter was soup and bread, the main course was seasoned meat with mashed vegetables. The beer was sour and pungent. The desserts were tart and sour. After the meal, the assembled men, produced cigars and pipes, many exchanged items and began smoking.

Bula rose from the table, "Hear! Hear!" he bellowed. The hall quieted down.

"This is Colonel Sikney, here to command our own men, to kill in His name, and take to take our name to the stars!"

A mighty roar, many of the men clapped each other on the back.

Bula turned to Sikney, "Address them," he demanded, and sat down.

There was silence, smoke drifted lazily about the room as Sikney rose, he collected his thoughts. He was about to begin, when someone called, "You ever kill a man?"

Sikney looked down the faces of the table, he could not tell who ask, he looked down at Bula, who stared back, one bushy eye-brow raised.

Sikney address the assembled men, "Yes, I have. I have killed many man, both as a common trooper and as an officer, I have even condemned my own to death."

Silence," How?"

"With gun, blade, bomb, and fist, what does it matter?"

More silence. Some heads nodded.

"You ever been injured?" someone else called out.

His patience was running thin, "Yes, both of my hips are made of hardened plasteel and my intestines had to be rebuilt from flexible plasteel tubing." He stated matter-of-factly, he was greeted by more silence.

"I am Imperial Guard Colonel Dorn Sikney," he said in a loud, commanding voice so filled with passion and determination, all those around him were enthralled. "I have been in the Imperial Guard all my life. I started my career as a common trooper, I have fought and I have killed. I have been injured. Rank-and-file soldiers reaching the rank of a colonel are rare, I do not boost when I say I can lead soldiers to battle. I am the former Colonel of the 19th Beligarso Grav-Troop, which I also served in for thirty-five years. An excellent regiment, tough bastards, the lot of them. When given command I had led them to victory on dozens of battlefields. I have been appointed to take command of the First Adare, this is my honor and my duty."

He stood, glaring at those around him, Bula rose slowly next to him. Sikney turned his glare at the giant. Bula looked down and admired the fierce determination in Sikney's face. He place one giant hand on Sikney's slender shoulder, "Excellent," was all he could say.

~ O ~

The following morning was bright and clear. A blue cloudless sky hovered over the muster field. Over fifteen hundred soldiers stood in neat ranks. Behind them were hundreds of tents, and behind those, the orbital lifters, ramps-down waiting silently. Each soldier wore black, lace-up boots, gray combat trousers, and a grey greatcoat. Under which went their undershirts and undershorts. Over the greatcoats were a dark grey armor and black combat webbing. The webbing was a waist belt and shoulder straps loaded with pockets and clip hooks. Within the webbing were many items a soldier would need; foot powder, compass, lasclips, a twenty inch combat knife, and so on. To the man, they wore necklaces and bracelets of stones, glass, or metal. Most carried lucky charms on their person, and tattoos and piercing where common. On each head a dark grey metal blow-shaped helmet rested. The rifle, standard Imperial Guard issue Mark IV Las-rifle, made locally on Adare, was held by the barrel, bayonet attracted, the metal stock resting on the ground one inch from the right boot.

Sikney, now dress in his Adare grays was followed by Lamm and the regiment's five captains. He prowled amongst the assembled soldiers, looking them over, scrutinizing them. Many all looked the same look, tan-skinned from so much time outside, bodies made strong from hard honest toil. However, there was something very odd about how each soldier had green eyes. Everyone he looked at had green eyes, some dark green, some light green, some had mixed green eyes, yet to the man, green. It was off putting.

He stopped in front one trooper, a youth, barely old enough to shave, sparkling green eyes. "Name, rank?" he demanded.

"Sir, Dex Zerzan, Private. Sniper. Sir" The youth replied

"Let me see your rifle."

The youth quickly and efficiently pulled his rifle up, snapped it across his chest, leveled it, and presented it to the colonel.

Sikney took it, examined it, "Senior Sergeant Lamm you see something wrong with this rifle?"

Lamm marched up, took one look at the rifle, "Sir, no scope, sir."

Sikney looked back at the youth, "Trooper, this is a full dress review, and you failed to service you kit? You said you were a sniper, where is the scope?"

Zerzan looked down at the long-las, the sniper modified version of a las-gun. "Sir, I … uh… don't use one … sir?

Sikney handed the long-las back, glare the youth in the eyes, turned and called down the line, "Captain Boortz!"

Captain Boortz marched up, Sikney sighed, "Captain, this trooper has failed to service his kit for inspection. Furthermore" Sikney reached over and tapped Zerzan's sniper pin on his collar, "this _sniper_ claims to not use a scope. Explain."

Boortz, overseer of the two-hundred and fifty troopers of second company, and second in command of the regiment, "Sir, Zerzan, shoots like shit when he uses a scope." He stated plainly and directly.

Good, thought Sikney, he did not have the patience for officers who wasted time with nice words.

'Well Captain, what good is a sniper who can not shoot?"

"Your pardon, sir, I said he can't shoot when using a scope."

"Meaning?"

"Zerzan, sir, is touched by the Emperor. He was born blind and one morning woke up with eyes that work. He claims to have seen the Emperor in his dreams, He spoke to him, telling him he could have his sight, if you used it kill His enemy's. That day Zerzan heard about the muster call."

Sikney was silent; he looked at Lamm, who was stone-faced and emotionless.

"This true trooper?" He asked Zerzan.

"Sir ... uh … quite true. Sir."

Sikney grunted and moved on, stopping in front of another soldier, "Name, Rank?"

"Syl Soll, Sergeant, 1st platoon, 2nd company"

Sergeant Soll had dark green eyes. He was an older man, and by the looks of him hard as rockcrete, "Occupation before joining the Guard?"

"Arbites, sir."

He moved on

"Name, Rank?"

"Lucco Bula, Trooper, Sir." said a strong young man with dark emerald eyes.

"Bula? Any relation to the governor?" Sikney asked

"He is my father, sir," young Bula relied.

"Strange for a governor's son to report to the calling of the Imperial Guard, don't you think?"

Bula was quiet for a moment, "Go on, son, and speak your mind," Sikney encouraged.

"Sir, there would no greater pride or honor then for the governor's own son to answer the muster call. We of Adare are warriors, even the _governor's_ son, sir." The youth replied intensely. His eyes alight with insult. By Sikney implying that because he was the planetary governor's son he would not have as much courage as the others, had offended the youth. Sikney smiled, if this youth's intensity was anything to go by he liked Adare's spirit.

Sikney moved on, asking troopers there names and other questions.

"Name, rank?"

"Zhan Oomomo, Trooper, Scouts."

"Name, rank?"

"Tolo Salwasser, Sergeant, 3rd Platoon, 3rd Company"

"Name, rank?"

"Asp D'Este, Trooper"

"Name, rank?"

"Demme Raven, Trooper, Signals."

"Name, rank?"

"Gregor Gorgan, Sergeant, Stormtroopers, 5th Platoon, 1st Company"

And on it went. For over two Imperial standard hours.

Sikney slowly worked his way around the regiment, stopping and checking various troopers, his last stop, near to where he asked the first trooper, "Name, Rank?"

"Tristan del Tarn, Trooper, Plasmagunner"

Trooper del Tarn was a massive brute, tall but not overly tall, he was massive in the chest, arms, and legs. "Trooper your eyes are grey."

"I am not from Adare, not originally, sir." Now as he spoke, Sikney noted that his voice was deeper, harder, the Adarians, for the most part had lighter voices, easy on the ears.

"Rifle, and occupation before the guard?"

Del Tarn, pulled his rifle up, snapped it across his chest, leveled, and presented arms. His weapon was a plasma rifle. It fired super-heated blasted of energy which could crack open armor vehicles or melt flesh. The only plasma rifle in the regiment.

"Engineer, sir"

Sikney noted that del Tarn had bionic hands when he passed the rifle back. It was not uncommon for soldiers to pick up bionic implants over the course of their military careers; Sikney briefly wondered how extensive del Tarn's implants were.

Sikney marched back to a platform from which we could address the assembled soldiers. He was introduced by Planetary Governor Bula, and spoke a speech that was meant to inspire them, to fill them with courage and resolve, to uplift their spirits and to place their souls at the God-Emperor's right hand. They cheered him, they were ready. For the rest of his life, Sikney could not remember what he had said.

~ O ~

After the field muster, he had all his Captains report to his tent, he insisted on camping near the troops. In the large main room of the tent, he had a table put up, and had chairs brought in. He and his captains sat at the table, Lamm waited behind Sikney. An attendant brought a tray with wine goblets and placed on in front of each of the men. Each man here was a lifer in the planetary militia system. All had excellent records, great potential and no real combat experience.

"Gentleman, a toast to war," Sikney called, raising his glass high, a chorus of cheers greeted him. They all drained their glasses as one.

"A toast to you colonel," called captain Boortz, as he waved the attendant back, after the young women refilled the glasses Boortz continued, "A traditional Adare war toast, May you shoot straight, charge fast, die hard, and pray often." A chorus of _hear hear_, and they drank.

"Well let's get to know each other. As you know I'm Colonel Dorn Sikney, this is my aid, Senior Sergeant Godwynn Lamm." Sikney indicated to Lamm's shadowy from behind him. "We both are from Beligarso. I have been in the His Imperial service for thirty-five years now. I know all of you by your records, but I care to know who you are, from yourselves. Captain Boortz, please go first."

"Thank you colonel. Captain Gobo Boortz, second company. I come from Hatzer, a small town north of Antigua. My father was a Moak rancher and my mother worked at the school, they raised me and three siblings. I joined the Antigua Militia when I came of age, I wanted to drive tanks," he said with a smile. "As it turns out, I made a better infantryman then tanker. I saw action on Adare Luna, our so-called 'moon war'. I'm sure it didn't compare to some of the actions you have seen, but my men and I made a good account of ourselves."

Sikney recalled what he had read about the 'moon war'. A small action, only about two hundred militia men, and some five hundred arbites, they suppressed a worker uprising on the planetary satellite. The soldiers involved had indeed made a good account for themselves, only three killed, some thirty wounded, and nearly seven hundred workers killed or captured.

"Captain Jox Ratcliff, third company. I'm from Antigua herself, I worked on a manufactory line as a child, enlisted, and have been serving every since, I as well saw action on Luna."

"Captain Sven Warix, fourth company. My family hales from the mountains west of Ektelon. All my fathers and bothers are warriors, so I am what I am because of who they are. Warix mean 'warrior's blood' in the old tongue and I may not have seen live combat, but I have sworn an oath to the God-Emperor to live up to my families' name-sake."

"Captain Betin Jugumander, fifth company. My family worked a fishing vessel in the Tan Azrul Archipelago. When I was a teen, I fell ill one day, and was left at home with my grand-mama. My father, mother, three brothers and three sisters went to sea, never to return. I worked other ships, but I just didn't feel right, so when I came of age, I joined the Tan Azrul Militia. I signed up for the muster when I heard they were asking for officers with combat experienced, we still deal with a lot coastal raiders in TAA."

"Captain Marian Trescot, six company. My family herd's moak far south of here, on the shores of the River Brugg, and by the grace of the Golden Throne, I have the privilege to fight in His battles."

~ O ~

Sikney and his captains met three times daily, at sun-raise, at mid-day, and at sun-set. At times they would talk for hours at a time, especially the evening briefing. At others, the meetings were very brief, very business like. These meeting were an effort to get to know one another, practice good battlefield briefing techniques and to settle the affairs of moving a thousand and a half men with all their equipment off planet. The amount of paperwork was truly monumental. And in good typical Imperial Guard fashion, everything had to been done in triplicate. Sikney joked it was easier to command a regiment in war then in peace time.

On the afternoon of the third day, preparations were nearing completion. All of the supplies, and many of the auxiliary staff, were aboard the _Galatan,_ their new home for now. Sikney heard a soft cough from outside the tent.

"Enter."

The flap was pulled away and Lamm walked in, data-slates in arms.

"How are things processing?" Sikney asked.

"Nearly there sir. Doctor Sharkov and his medical staff went up this morning." Lamm paused for a moment. "Sir, there is an issue which I think requires your attention."

"Go on then."

"Sir, the men have eight hundred and eighty three canines they wish to bring with them." Lamm stated bluntly. "Not counting yours, sir.

"What?" Sikney asked, bewildered.

"Sir, the men have eight hundred …"

"I heard you the first time, Lamm," Sikney interrupted. "Eight hundred and eighty three dogs, are you kidding me?"

"No sir."

"Good Emperor!" Sikney exclaimed. "I will address this issue with the captains tonight. We will not be bringing nearly nine hundred dogs with us."

"If I may say sir, the Adarians really like their dogs."

"Lamm I am aware of the cultural heritage of caninies on Adare, and of the men's love for their canine companions. However, it isn't practical to bring them."

Lamm thought for a moment, and then simply shrugged, "I guess not sir. These slates require your signature."

~ O ~

A few minutes before the evening briefing Sikney heard a light cough outside his tent flap. He looked at his wrist-timer. His captains were early. "Enter," he called.

Sikney turned to gather up some memo-pads and printed reports as he turned back was surprised to see six men not five, and six wrong men to boot. Not his captains at all, these men were his chief sergeants. Company Sergeants Salka, Soll, Odell, Fruhtz, Zasky and Mangalam. They formed rank and stood sharp at attention. They saluted as one.

Sikney smiled, "I asked for five captains and get six sergeants." Tossing them a lazy salute.

None spoke.

"My guess is you came here for a reason. So speak up."

Salka was the first to speak. "Sir, we've heard rumors that our dogs aren't going to be allowed to come with us. Is it true?

Zasky added quickly, "Sir, Adarians love their dogs. They are as important to us as … well, something that's really important to you." He trailed off weakly, turning red faced, unable to think of anything that was important to Sikney, as none of them knew him. He smiled.

"Gentlemen it is impractical to bring nearly nine hundred dogs on the starship. Think of the additional food they'd intake, think of the extra waste matter they would create. Where would they be housed? There are no kennels aboard the _Galatan_."

"Sir, it would be a crushing blow to morale before we ever left Adare, sir. To bring our dogs with us is to that a part of Adare with us. They say when a Guard regiment leaves its home world; very few can expect to return." Odell said.

"We even signed over all of our worldly possessions." Mangalam added.

"And the men would resent it, sir," Soll added. "And they would resent you, sir."

Everyone was silent for moment.

"Sergeant Soll, are you threatening me?" Sikney asked.

"No sir, I'm just stating how the men will react. I know how I would react and as a son of Adare I can guess they will act the same."

Sikney stood slowly, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. That will be all."

"Sir …" Salka, Odell and Mangalam piped up quickly.

"I said that will be all." Sikney added quietly. The sergeants stood at attention, saluted and departed.

A few minutes later, the regiment's five captain arrived. They gathered around the table, chatting lightly and drinking cups of caffeine. Sikney joined them from a backroom. They saluted easily.

"Gentleman, twice today it has been brought to my attention that the men want to bring their dogs with them. What do you all think of this?" Sikney asked with no to do.

The Captains glanced at one another, Trescot answered first, looking up from his cup of caffeine. "We aren't going to be allowed to bring 'em?"

Sikney said nothing.

"Colonel, sir, I think I know what you are thinking, but the men were promised they could bring their dogs with them." Boortz said.

"By whom?" Sikney asked.

Boortz produced a data-slate, and searched for a moment, then showed it to Sikney. It was an Imperial Guard voluntary sign-up form, local version, article f-iix read … _Adare Guardsmen's will be allowed to bring their said canine companions_ …

After reading this, Sikney looked at Boortz and asked, "What is Adare's ugliest profanity?"

"_Zek_, sir" he said. 'Definitely, I'd say it's _Zek_."

"You all agree?" he asked the rest of captains

"Yes, sir." They all agreed.

"Then I'd feel now is the time use it. Zek those Adminstratium bastards! Zek them to hell!" Sikney said with feeling.

~ O ~

Getting Captain Berger of the _Galatan_ to understand was very tough. Sikney decide he would do in person. He took a quick hopper shuttle late that night.

"Emperor damn you Sikney, I will not have hounds running around my ship!" Berger roared. Sikney sat quietly while the man continued. "This is an Emperor blessed starship, not some mangy barn! You have the authority to deny the order, Sikney, one word from you and done. By the time those ink-drinkers find out you've done, we'd be to far gone to do anything about it. Well, what do think?"

Sikney waited a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and said, "Three things captain Berger. First, a courtesy, you will address me by my title as well as my name. Second, these men were promised, albeit, by other powers that be, that they could bring their faithful companions. In time they will be lied to and used enough. And I will not deny them this one small present. And finally, as this ship seconded to the Imperial Guard, do that means me. Having eight hundred and eight three, no four, hounds on board does not pose a threat to the vessel, or conflict with any navy regulations or procedures that might be harmful to the vessel or the crew, you have no authority over this matter. What I say is final, the hounds come with us."

Berger's face turned bright red, veins throbbed in his neck. With a huff he throw open the door and he stormed off, although Sikney do not know where, as they were in his office.


	3. Checkpoint

The southern access route to the vast plateau city of Pryne was a four line highway. The First Adare Gundogs had allotted two platoons to cover the pass. Sergeant Soll had his fifty troopers of First Platoon, Second Company, and Sergeant Whetlighter of Fifth Platoon, Second Company with fifty more. On the southern slopes of the mountain fortress One-Two and Five-Two were positioned in the rocky outcroppings overlooking the main throughway, the so-called Blessed Way. Some two hundred and twenty local Pryne PDF'ers had barricaded the road, creating a heavily armed checkpoint. Captain Hours, of the Pryne Planetary Defense Force, had his troopers holding the pass itself. All forces at the pass were nominally under command of the highest ranking officer, Captain Hours. However, both Whetlighter and Hours knew Soll was really in charge. He had been fighting most of his life. First, as a street youth growing up in South Greenhold, fighting bitter gang battles for food and turf. Then as an Arbites officer, enforcing the emperor's law and order on the disorderly all across Adare. And now as a Gundog, he fought His enemies across the galaxy. Syl Soll had a fighter's attitude, ever give up, never stop, and if all else fails, just kill first and ask questions later.

The captain and the two sergeants were in conference down on the road when the first vox's came though. The enemy was approaching. Estimated numbers, hundreds heretics, a multi-company strength force. No armor sighted. No ranging artillery. Combat range in less then ten minutes.

"Gentleman it seems the time is upon us." Hours said tensely. He had to wait for Whetlighter to tell him what was happening; the PDF did not have individual comm-links with which could connect them to any another trooper in, depending on terrain, a few mile radius. "To your stations." He ordered. Soll and Whetlighter saluted him, exchanged hand slaps, and jogged up the opposite paths.

~I~

When Soll returned to his platoon, corporal Bethel was waiting. "Sarge?" he asked.

"Corporal, start the war-chant." Soll replied. Bethel grinned and hung his rifle across his back, whistled loudly, and began slapping his thighs. He also, began a rough bark in time with slapping his thighs. The other Gundogs around them quickly took up the ritual. They all knew it; it's been the same for thousands of years. Soon every Gundog was slapping theirs thighs and barking roughly. From across the pass came an echo, fifty other Adare Gundogs were beating tattoos on their legs and grunting loudly. Some jumping, other stomping. Faster the beating came on, faster and louder, until the crescendo, when all hundred voices roar with defiance and courage.

The PDF soldiers were amazed and terrified by the sounds they heard. These Imperial troopers had working themselves into a pitched-fury. Some even muttered if the enemy could not slake their bloodlust, they would turn on them.

"Damn savages." Hours said darkly to an aid.

"Take this end and watch out for the PDF'ers, their zeked if those bastards get to close. I don't trust them. They look like they'll run off when the shooting starts. Get del Tarn's plasmagun and Standish's flamer to hold the corner here. They can watch the pass and slope. " Soll said after the war-ritual had been completed.

"Sure boss." Bethel replied "Where will you be?"

"Watching the far end, making sure no one is sneakin' about." He said and trotted off. "Platoon, take aim, and begin firing when they are in range" He bellowed. The path had been carved into the slope-side by the passing of many thousands of feet. The slopes around the Blessed Way were used as camping area for many of poorer citizen who traveled to and from the city. There was a short retaining wall of rock facing down slope, the slope itself was made up of tough scrappy looking trees, boulders of various sizes and sree . Lots of sree. It would be a tough approach, not unstoppable, but it would cost a lot in lives. As he wandered to the far end of the path he turned a sharp corner and encountered the last two troopers, Nash and Mederer. The paths poor angle they did not allow them a great shot of the road or the lower slopes, and they had inched over to the paths turn. Soll quickly shooed them back to the end of the path.

"Come on Sarge, we'll hardly see be able to see the battle from here. Let alone get any shots off." Nash complained.

"Yeah yeah" Mederer agreed.

"Shut up, both of you." Soll said. They frowned and fell silent. "Look we'll get our chance to blast some of those bastards, don't worry. Keep a sharp lookout over there." He pointed down to where the path ended. "This is a probe, they're snooping around, trying to find a way in. Are they going to find one anywhere near One –Two?"

"No" they relied weakly.

"What was that?"

"No, sir" they relied with a little more convicting this time.

"Say it like you mean it!"

"There's no damn way they'll find a way in anywhere near One-Two!" Mederer roared.

"Zek you, you bastards!" Nash screamed at the approaching enemy.

~I~

The first sound of battle was high pitched whine-crack of the long-las's. Soll's two snipers and Whetlighter's own had found the range. Ozbek launched a fragmentation missile into a clustered mass of heretic soldiers. A dozen lost limbs or lives to the deadly shrapnel. Then Hours's sharpshooters, armed with solid-ammo throwers, started making a dull boxy crack. Though they may not have had the Gundogs skill or experience at shooting; they certainly made up for it with enthusiasm. Soll could here laughing and yelling coming from around the corner. He was preached right at the corner, from were he could see the lower slope, his troops, the enemy, and if he looked around, Nash and Mederer holding the far-end of his line. There most have been hundreds of the enemy. Most moved towards the road. The heavy guns of Hours were going to reap a terrible tally. But he could see several groups moving towards the lower slopes. They moved quickly, hunched over, making the most of the cover offered by the terrain. Vermin, Soll thought. Just like the vermin he'd grown up with, scurrying around dumpsters and trash yards of South Greenhold. This vermin scurried around the galaxy, bring disease and death with them. On Adare, dogs had been used as pest control from the time of the first settlers. They still are. And now, Soll thought, the Gundogs are the galactic pest control. The analogy made him smile.

As one the entire line opened fire, nearly fifty las-rifles, sending blinding white strips of death down the slope. Nearly fifty enemies died. Then the shooting became haphazard. Troopers picking targets, most shots finding home on enemies.

Soll took pot-shots from the corner, and suddenly got a strange feeling, he looked back over his shoulder, and saw Nash and Mederer waiting and watching the slope ahead of them. He whistled and drew their attention. He walked down the path, telling Nash and Mederer to move to his place at the corner. He could not shake this strange feeling, it was almost like being watched. He walked to the end of the path and leaned out over the edge of the wall to have a look around and throw himself backwards. Then the concussion blast knocked him unconscious and threw him forward into the wall, he bounced off and landed several feet back down the path.

He had no idea how long he had been out. Not to long, he reckoned. He lay face down, pressed into a wedge of rock. All he could hear was a vast ringing, a good sign, if his ear drums had been busted he would not have been able to hear anything, or so he had been told. He felt someone trying to roll him on to back, pain raced down his left hip and leg. He tighten his grip on his rifle and stayed quiet, he could smell the dreadful scent of the enemy. They stank of raw sweat-stink, of blood and urine, and of the nauseating oils they annotated their bodies with. When he flopped onto his back, without so much as opening his eyes, Soll flicked his las-rifle to full auto and pulled the trigger. He opened his eyes in time to see two bodies blasted up and away from him. He quickly sat-up and emptied the rest of his cell into the three soldiers in front of him. Two toppled over the edge of slope wall and one was pinned to the wall and slowly slide down. Soll just sat there, for hours it seemed to him, arching all over, grunting in pain. He saw a slow shuffled movement from the corner of his eyes, and saw the one heretic against the back wall slow raise to his feet, several holes punched into his chest. He was an ugly brute, he wore dirty brown coveralls, a heavy black steel helmet, and a blank leather mask with only slits for the eyes and mouth. Soll tried to re-cell his las-rifle but his wounded left arm was too clumsy and he dropped the cell to the floor, the brute nearly was on him.

"Zek" Soll muttered repeatedly. Trying to reach the cell with his right hand, the brute kicked it away and laughed. Soll looked up, the heretic was rubbing his wounds with its big hands, grunting in pain or pleasure or both. As Soll watched him, the heretic watched him back with beady, reddened, mad eyes. The heretic suddenly stopped rubbing and looked down at his blood covered hand, he licked one lightly, revealing rotting black teeth and ulcerated gums, then just as suddenly lurched at Soll, designing to smother him to death with his blood-coated hands. They wrestled ferociously, Soll kicked and punched, and when he had the presents of mind to reach for his knife, he stabbed the wretched beast in the heart half a dozen times. He lay back down, the filthy, reeking heretic laying on him. He started to gag. He did not have the strength to move him one armed.

"Sarge?" Came a cry from far away. Soll raised his hand.

"Sarge?" the cry came again. Much closer.

"I'm here! Over here, get this wretch off me" he said, he voice hoarse.

The stinking weight of the dead heretic was pulled away and Demme Raven, his vox-man, suddenly came into view. "Oh zek!" he said passionately.

"I'm fine, just a little banged up. Give me a hand up, and I'll catch my breath" Raven helped pull Soll to a sitting position. It hurt badly, for a moment he thought he was going to black-out, but he could not be seen as weak in front the others, he was their leader after all. And no Adare war leader, of any status, would show weakness. He looked around for anything to distract him from his pain, he saw Nash and Mederer throwing the bodies over the lips edge. They were covered in a fine white coat of rock dust. "You happened to you two?" Soll asked and signaled to Raven to pass him a canteen. They paused, and looked at each other, shrugged, "A plasma missile hit the space between you and us, knocked us back, by the time we got here, they were all dead." Mederer said.

"Zerzan got the zeker, the moment he saw the flash point." Nash added.

Suddenly, Soll remembered they were fighting a battle, he lurched on his good shoulder and peered over the rock wall, the enemy was in full retreat. "Easy Sarge, please sit down." Raven said softly. Soll nodded and sat down. He looked himself over, he as well was covered in a rock dust, the areas where he was bleeding had gone dark. His left hip hurt likes a zeker, and so did his left elbow. Dollon suddenly came around the corner, medic-bag under one arm. He roughly pushed the other troopers away and quickly began fussing about Soll. Soll did not stop him.

"Sarge, Colonel on the horn" Raven said, pressing one hand to his ear, the other holding out the hand-set.

"Raven leave the vox-box here, and get me the numbers, ours, Whetlighter's, and the PDF'ers. Also, get Zerzan and Madanoch to count the up the enemy dead, too."

"I'm on it." Raven said, as he dropped his vox-pack.

"This is One-Two, go ahead." Soll spoke into the hand-set.

"One-Two this is Sikney, Status?' Sikney's light voice was tinny.

"Colonel the enemy has attacked the Blessed Way with a multi-company recon force. Foot troops, light weapons, no armor, no artillery. We made a good account of ourselves, we sent them back to hell, sir. I'm getting the numbers now."

"Excellent work sergeant. Well done. Pass my praise to your men."

"I will sir, I'll vox in when I know the figures, estimated four minutes."

"Read, standing by for transmission."

Soll waited for Raven to return. Dollon working on him. The medic had given him some pain-killers when the others were not looking, Soll causally took them with the last the water from Raven's canteen.

"Eight 'dogs dead, sir. Six from Five-Two, including Whetlighter himself and First Corporal Hawby. Two from my own platoon. Some forty PDF'ers were also fated. The hardest fighting was down on the road. It seems Corporal Bethel led a counter-attack from our side and Whetlighter from his when the locals were hard-pressed." Soll related the information to Sikney, some twenty miles away. "At first count, close to five hundred enemy dead. I have to give it to the locals, sir. They stood their ground and fought tooth and nail. Even when their officers died. Send my commendations to whomever you deem appropriate."

There was a moment of silence. "I will Soll, hold fast. I'm sending Two-Four and Three-Four to replace you and Five-Two. I want both platoons on rest detail the moment they get back." Sikney said.

"Read you Colonel, see you in a few." Soll said, hanging the hand-set on the vox-pack.

He stood up slowly, under his own strength. Dollon looking concerned. "Gundogs" he yelled, getting everyone attention, "let me hear you roar! Roar so that the enemy knows we are here, that we will always be here. Roar so the Lost can be herald into heaven with your voices. Roar so that the God-Emperor himself can hear you!"

And roar they did.


	4. Gundogs, move!

Captain Boortz raced down the dry canal head down, energy bolts and solid rounds flew over head, explosions throwing dirt and rubble skyward. Hundreds of Gundogs were laying on the canals slope, waiting to charge.

"Soll!" Boortz yelled. After seeing first platoons sergeant raise his hand, Boortz trotted up, and hunkered down next to him.

"Sir?" Soll inquired

"Get One-Two together, I need you to silence those anti-aircraft cannons on the ridge if we ever want to get out this canal." Boortz explained, pointed to the low ridge dotted with hab units to their right flank. A chapel spire could be seen at the bottom of the ridge. "In fifteen minutes the artillery is going to pound that building to cinders, get your men close, wait the bombardment out, and get though before the enemy brings up reinforcements. Any questions?"

"Yeah one … wouldn't you rather send Gorgan and his stormtroopers, this sounds like his kinda of job," Soll said, not looking distressed in the least.

Boortz smiled, "You're right, Gorgan would have loved to lead this assault, but he and his boys are shooting up the enemy ten blocks away, no time to shift 'em. If you don't need anything else, best get moving."

Soll rose slowly and saluted, "If that'll be all, sir" Soll said. Boortz returned his saluted, slapped him on the shoulder and trotted back down the line. "Bethel get the men together, and get as many grenades as you can from the other platoons, we're moving out."

~ O ~

Fifteen minutes later, First Platoon, Second Company huddled close in the ruins above the canal. In front of them was a massive building. Seventy stories high. Flat faced, grey, ugly. Hundreds of broken windows decorated its front. Dozens of weapons jutted out from emplacements. To assault this building the Gundogs had to race across a four hundred foot wide plaza, with no cover. Not a one of them would make a quarter of the distance. Just as Soll was musing over this the first shells sang over head. The shells, each as tall as man smashed into the build, causing massive amounts of destruction. He could see panic, bodies and silhouettes running for cover, he saw bodies thrown into the air. He felt a smile crept onto his face at their well deserved death.

"Tell them to lower their aim, blasten' the top of the building is all well and good, but we need them to gut the ground floor … but not to low." Soll yelled inches of vox-operator Raven's ear, barely able to be heard with the monumentally destruction happening before their eyes. Raven nodded, and worked his vox set, pressing one hand hard over his other ear, calling in more precious coordinates to the artillery.

The barrage went on for five minutes, the massive building was on fire and most the lower floors where indeed gutted. The plaza was awash with debris and bodies. Soll looked down the line at one of his snipers, Zerzan, the sniper was working his long-las left and right, looking for any signs of life. Zerzan stopped and shook his head.

"Gundogs, move!" Soll bellowed.

At first only two Gundogs raced forward, the platoons two scouts, Madanoch and Homare, keeping low and skirting from one rubble pile to the next. Quickly and efficiently they moved across the plaza, when they reached the building, they leapt up the stairs and ducked into the darkness of the massive overhang. A few moments later, Madanoch voxed an all clear. The rest of One-Two moved out, sprinting to the building. When they arrived they saw, first hand, the destruction the artillery had cause. Huge holes were ripped into the building and ground. Hundreds of death cultist lay everywhere, many dismembered and blackened. Heavy weapons emplacements had been utterly eliminated. In the distance they could hear alarms and sirens ringing.

"Form into fire teams and move, rendezvous at the chapel at he base of the ridge." Soll ordered. Knowing that his troopers could move faster in smaller units, and the tactical side of him knew, that if they encountered resistance and were overwhelmed, it would mean at least some of the platoon could continue the mission.

The platoon spilt into ten teams of five, and two teams travel in tandem, covering and watching out for each other.

~ O ~

Troopers Lundy, Nash, Ulrick, del Tarn, and Standish teamed and stalked off. Their cover team consisted of Corporal Bethel, and Troopers Beeler, Zerzan D'Est, and Madanoch. They moved in twos and threes, scouting each corner and building entrance. Their grey greatcoats, and stealth skills serving them well.

Ulrick peeked around the corner, "All clear" he whispered. A flight of fighters roared over head, deafening them. Anti-Aircraft fire chased after the fighters. Standish moved forward, ready to make the run across the street. The two fire teams had made it eight blocks, over half way to the chapel, when they almost comically blundered into a score of cultists. They had been running down the street when one of them turned the corner and rammed into hulking Standish, who fell back on the Ulrick, who stumbled into Nash. The cultist, who slammed into Standish, bounced off the huge flametrooper and set off a similar domino effect around the other side of the building. However comical it may have been, this encounter could only end in bloodshed.

Del Tarn and Lundy had seen the others fall down, and leapt to their feet, bounding around their sprawled comrades, and bolted around the corner guns blazing from their hips. Del Tarn was first around, stepping on cultists, he blasted three apart with a quick blast from his plasmagun. Lundy finished the other the other two standing heretics off. Without hesitating they both turned their weapons to the bodies at their feet.

The other troopers got up and dusted themselves off and after spiting many 'zeks' at one another, they dragged the bodies of the heretics off the street and dumped them in an derelict building, and moved out quickly.

As the latest team crawled into the chapel, Soll gave a quick head count, five men were still missing.

"Dunn, what took you so long? And where is Waller?" Soll asked.

"Sorry sarge, we had to hide out while reinforcements came though. The zekers. Waller didn't make it, he got into a fire-fight, we heard the shots so we doubled back. Waller and his mates were pretty shot up." Dunn said, pausing, to drink heavily from his canteen. "He voxed me to "get lost"; he said he was gonna to provide us rear guard."

"Damnation" Scowled Soll. "Raven, get on the vox and see if you can raise anyone from Waller's fire team." After a negative from Raven, Soll had to concede that they had been caught and wiped out. Time to move on.

"All right, come on now." Soll said, pulling out a map, laying on the floor, the troops gathered around. "We have to silence some AA guns a ways up the slope. Once those guns are nice and quiet, the bombers will drop a zek load of bombs, our mates will swarm in killing anything left alive and we and take this city by the end of the day. Any questions? No, well then pack it in, we move in five."

~ O ~

Creeping alone like heavily armed dogs, 1st Platoon, 2nd Company had managed to slip though the net of reinforcements rushing to fill the gap were they had come in. It had taken them some time to find the guns, they were well hidden by ruined hab units. There were four quad-barrel, truck mounted cannons, and six big flak throwers. The Gundogs were close, they could hear the shouts of the overseers and engineers. Soll had split the platoon in half, taking twenty men around the flank of the AA nest, to block any retreat or reinforcements. Bethel had the other twenty-five men, he was to wait ten minutes then launch his assault. He had sent Scout-Trooper Madanoch with Troopers Ulrick and del Tarn, loaded down with explosives around the front of the position, right under the big guns themselves. The rest of the men were clustered into fighting group, each cluster of soldier had a purpose. Ozbek, the missile-trooper and his loader, Golec, were the first to react, when the ten minutes were up. Ozbek whispered, "Clear?" and Golec replied the same. Then he stepped out, aimed, and at 120 feet, put a rocket into the first truck. The explosion was the cue from the rest of the half-platoon. Eighty feet away, two troopers threw frag grenades into the bed of another truck. Standish, who had crept the closest, poured liquid fire into a stubber gun nest, cooking the occupants alive, the rest of the Gundogs, bayonets fixed charged the emplacement. In all the confusion the grey clad Gundogs stormed over the rubble and swiftly began massacring the cultists.

Although surprised and confused the cultist outnumbered the depleted platoon by a margin of five to one. Bethel knew this and decided the best course of action was to quickly over whelm them, killing as many as possible as quickly as possible.

Ulrick waiting under the big guns, as del Tarn planted the explosives along the edge of the wall, noticed a small window forty feet above them.

"Madanoch you finish up here, I'm going to have a look in there." Pointing to the small dark spot on the rubble. Madanoch tried to stop him, but it was too late, Ulrick had already begun to climb the ruined face. With monkey like skill he scaled the rumble easily, until coming to an observation window. Ulrick heard the explosions that were the cue that the attack was beginning. He peeked in, and pulled his head back quickly. There were three cultist inside, all looking the wrong way. He hung his gun on a piece of metal outside the window, drew his warknife, then snaked his way in. The cultists who were inside had been distracted by the sounds of war coming from behind them. Ulrick was amongst them before they realized they were not alone. He killed all three in a matter of seconds. Then he reached out side the window and retrieved his rifle, waved to Madanoch below and went back to the fight. He was in a small bunker, crude steps lead up to a platform, he heard someone running his way. Stepping out of the bunker he smashed the face of the cultist with his rifle stock, as the cultist reeled back, Ulrick grabbed the robes of the cultist, preventing him from falling down. With a sharp tug, he thrust the cultist into the bunker space. When the cultist hit the ground he began wailing horribly. Ulrick pounced on him and smashed his face in with two more swings of this rifle.

After spiting on the body, Ulrick crept out of the bunker, being careful to keep to cover. He scampered down a dark hallway into a ruined bedroom. He perceived no movement around him. Peeking from a window he had a perfect view of the emplacement below him, to his right on an large, wide embankment were the big flak throwers, in a courtyard cleared of rubble, behind the cannons, where the four gun-trucks. Two were smoking and a third was being overrun with grey coated Gundogs. As he watched he saw troopers climb into the back of the truck, shooting and bayoneting everything. There was a flash of white hot liquid flame blazing from somewhere, the screams of the burning were audible even over the roar of battle. The fourth gun-truck had lowered its barrels and was about to begin blasting the Gundogs. From somewhere hidden, a perfectly aimed las shot took the gunner in the neck, his head popping off like a wine cork. The fourth truck was finished off by a rocket, the gun-truck flipped end over end, crashing upside down. Looking back to his right, Ulrick could see cultist rallying at the flak guns. Soll, who had managed to work his snipers and marksman into hidden positions, fired a few well aimed shots, killing some and made the rest duck back for cover. Ulrick took aim, and shot one arm off a flag waving heretic, then quickly scampered away.

~ O ~

The Gundogs quickly killed all the cultists in the courtyard. Then they took up defensive positions. None attacked the embankment with the big cannons, even though there had to be hundred or more cultist throwing shots and taunts at them.

"Ozbek now's the time!" Bethel voxed. Golec slammed a rocket into the rear-loading missile launcher and gave two quick taps on Ozbek's helmet.

"Clear?" Ozbek asked.

"Clear!" Golec said, he looked away and covered his head.

Ozbek sent a rocket in reply to the jeering. However, his shoot was too high, sailing high over the embankment. Exploding into a small sun, a flare, a signal. The Gundogs could hear the heretics laughing. Their laughing stopped when a rumble shock the earth. The explosives del Tarn had used, had been melta-bombs. Designed to blast open armored doors and disable tanks. When they exploded, the explosive force pushed in the ground. The bombs melted vast tracks of earth. This destabilized the embankment above them, and as quickly as an avalanche, six Flak cannons, hundreds of heretics, and a thousand tons of rockcrete, fibreboard, and earth crashed down the slope.


	5. Life Underfoot

Fifth Company was huddled in main passenger station of the Foz Magna Railyard's. The vast building, easily accommodating thousands of people boarding hundreds of trains, was shattered from two weeks worth of effort on the part of the Imperials. Fifth Company had just taken the facility earlier in the morning. Captain Jugumander, in conjunction with Warix's advance to his left and Trescot's to his right, led a brilliant assault taking the station and holding it against two counter attacks. On the far west end of the building, the last place taking, Third Platoon, Sergeant Pream's mob had dug in.

"Voss get up here." Sergeant Pream called.

Corporal Voss, a handsome man from Antigua, hustled over. "Yeah Sarge?" he inquired.

"Take Gcummen and Brunner with you, check out the basement. I heard Sgt. Sunderberg had a group of them hiding under his very feet. "

"Yeah, ok. Gcummen, Brunner with me." he called out and signaled them over.

Gcummen's thick black hair, tide back with a bandana, gave him the look of an exotic song-bird. Brunner, a native to Tan Azrul, like Pream and Jugumander, was extensively tattooed on the hands and arms with the coastal people's traditional five spiral motif and with his sleeves rounded up pasted his elbows they glistened with his sweat.

"Fire sweep, let's go." Voss explained. Both nodded. All three hunched low made their way to a maintenance hatch, finding it unlocked, opened it and moved into a dark empty space. "Lamps" Voss suggested. The two men pulled out hand lamps and after igniting them, attached them to the bayonet lugs on their rifles. Voss pulled out a smaller lamp with elastic straps and pulled in over his head. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out a bull-nosed laspistol.

They stood in a small room with a flight of metal stairs leading down. After the stairs, they entered a maintenance corridor. Voss took the led with Gcummen behind him as they moved they alternated which sides they moved down, to allow both men a field of fire. Brunner trailed behind them, creeping sideways, checking for movement behind them.

The first door they came to was locked, Voss pressed his ear to the cold metal door and heard no noise, he signaled and the three men shifted positions, Brunner directly in front, with the other two men on either side of the door. Voss nodded and Brunner smashed the door open with one kick. The crash echoing loudly around them. Brunner dropped to his knee and aimed is lamp into the room, Voss and Gcummen bolted into the room, weapons raised looking for targets. The room they entered was an office of some kind, a large desk covered in papers and data-slates. There was a small washroom off the main chamber which Voss carefully checked. Empty. Voss entered the main chamber and found Gcummen shaking his head, indicating no contact. This was were the station's vast administration staff worked. Crunching numbers and pushing paperwork. By the look of it, this was some middle-level adept's office. Voss began to rummage though the desk. There were invoices and shipment manifestoes dating back nearly half a year, about the time Foz Magna fell to the call of the dark ones. Moving out they repeated the maneuver, checking each door for sound, seeing if was locked, and if so smashing it open, then storming the room. It was a tiresome, nerve-rattling thing to do.

Then had cleared their twelfth room when a silent voice drifted over the vox, "Movement." Brunner voice came softly. He was in the door way, his rifle and lamp pointing in the room, but he was looking down the hallway. He slowly reached up and turned off his light, then slowly pointed his rifle down the hallway. Voss crouched next to him, he to had extinguished his light. "Where?" he asked.

"Down a ways, there is some light, maybe a window from an open office door or something. But I saw something move from left to right." Brunner explained.

"Right." Voss said, stepping past Brunner into the hallway. He moved to the far wall and signaled Gcummen to move in close behind him, his rifle next to his arm. Brunner crept along the other wall. Brunner had been right, there was a faint light source coming form up ahead. And after a few moments of letting their eyes adjust to the weak light they moved off again. At the next door, they paused and checked to see that it was locked and moved on. Doing the same to all the other doors they pasted, they did not want to leave any suspicious places for enemies to lurk.

They had been creeping along for nearly twenty minutes, meticulous checking each door, all where locked. As they got closer to the source of light, Gcummen whispered in Voss's ear, "Hey Voss?"

Voss turned his head, but not his eyes, and mouthed back,_ What_?

"If you see anything, just shot it, ok, just shot it." Gcummen said, his whispers carrying his nervousness and trepidation. Voss stopped and looked at Gcummen, he know that he was no coward, on the contrary, Gcummen was a tough and resourceful soldier, filled with love for his brothers-in-arms and hatred for his enemies, but all his creeping around in the dark underground was to much for a farm lad from Antigua. He glanced at Brunner, the trooper had stopped as well, and was watching the exchange. The sea-thug seemed to have little difficulty with skulking around in dark. He probably had similar experiences on the docks of Tan Azrul.

_Shut up_, Voss mouthed. _Look at Brunner._

"I'm no sea-dog, no offence Brunner." Gcummen hissed. Brunner shrugged, taking no offence at all. He nervously grabbed Voss's shoulder, "I just don't want to you hesitate, ok, just shot anything you see, ok, for me."

Voss scowled and lightly elbowed Gcummen in the ribs, and pointed his fingers at his eyes, then gestured with his hand down the hallway. Gcummen gulped and nodded. The trio moved off silently.

~ O ~

The hallway came to nexus of hallways, four dark tunnels, including the one they came in on, radiated away from them. This was the source of the light, which came down from a half buried and opaque plas-glass ceiling. Voss had Brunner hold position at the entrance of the tunnel that they had emerged from, and sent Gcummen to scout out the others. Voss realized it was going to take more then the three of them to fire-sweep the underground labyrinth of the railyard station. Just as he was going to about to contact sergeant Pream, he heard a noise, a light clank of metal on metal, and instinctively moved to find cover in a doorway, Brunner still hiding in the shadows never moved. Gcummen took up position opposite Voss. They waited for the noise came again. The tunnel on the right. Voss moved in crouched, his laspistol up, eyes darting everywhere. Brunner and Gcummen did like whys, rifles up and armed. They had moved about three hundred feet, checking each door, when the noise came for the third time. It sounded like a door being closed. They came to a door, anonymous and identical to the rest and checked the door handle. It was unlocked. They exchanges looks and nodded.

They readied themselves and Voss looked at the others and they nodded. He pulled a flash grenade from a belt pouch and armed it. Brunner, as before, kicked the door in with a swift, powerful kick, and this time, leapt to the side. Voss leaned over, tossed the grenade in hard, leaned back and clinched his eyes shut, readied his pistol and head-lamp. He heard the pop and flash of the grenade going off, and bolted around the door frame. The was in large room with a dozen small workdesks, separated be cloth paneled walls down one wall, and a singularly large desk, stretching the length of the room on the other. In the middle of the room were half a dozen figures in rags, huddled around a small fire, a pot boiling was on it. The figures were wailing in fear and pain, many attempting to flee, however all were flash blind and stumbling around in an attempted to get away. Many fell and most quit after a few attempts. With a quick glance he knew what type of people these were. Gcummen was next to him, weapon raised, finger tight on the trigger. "Wait!" He yelled. Even though they were emaciated and filthy, they had none of the taint he had seen on the other Nyx citizens. But it was too late, Gcummen fired and blasted one the survivors. Brunner was there to a second later, about to do the same, Voss yelled, "Wait wait, stop!" and Brunner was yelling too.

"Zek me!" Gcummen yelled and he to realize what he saw.

'Stop moving, wait everyone, we're Imperial Guardsmen." Voss yelled out. After a few moments of silence, he heard people muttering.

_Imperial Guardsmen_

_The Emperor protects_

Or just _thank you, thank you_.

Voss voxed Pream the situation, normally refuges were more of a hindrance to military operations then a gift, especially with the on-going battle still taking place around them. These refugees however were unique; they were the only one found so far. The battle for Foz Magna had been going on for over three mouths, and no one had found anyone who hadn't either joined the Nyx cultists or been killed by them. A squad of troopers and Medic-Trooper Ip joined them and after searching more, they found about twenty more people hiding in the dark rooms. When questioned about how they had come to be there, many claimed to have moved into the underground after the railyard had first been bombed. They also, claimed there were others in Foz Gage, hiding and preying for deliverance.

The refugee shot by Gcummen lived long enough to hear his apology for shooting him. The survivor replied, that he shouldn't think anything of it. He was freeing him. And besides, would have rather been shot by a fellow worshipper of the Emperor then by one of the filthy turncoats any day. Gcummen waited until he was alone to cry.


	6. Think to Question

~ O ~

Augustus Nash and nine troops ran towards the door. Shots ran out, one hitting trooper Olley in the shoulder, blasting the trooper back into Nash. They both fell. Nash got to his knees and rolled Olley over, there was a nasty wound on the outside of the shoulder, painful for sure, but not critical and he would live, "Medic!" yelled Nash, "They're on the way, Olley, stay down." Olley grunted his reply.

He got to his feet and ran after the others, who were nearly to the door. As he ran he saw shots, the white beams of his comrades and the red beams of the enemy. A strange thought struck him, he wondered why las beams were different colors, it seemed too convenient that they existed solely to distinguish opposing side. He guessed the enemy used rifles made with older technology, but he would have to ask del Tarn, the ex-tech priest would now for sure, the next time he saw him. At that moment, Corporal Dezzick kicked in the door of the building, the moment the door moved inwards it took the trip-wire set inside with it. The explosion killed the Dezzick and three men closest to him. They were counted lucky. The other men were enveloped by a cloud of poisonous flumes. They died horribly, within seconds, as their lungs melted. Nash, who was running to catch up, was caught by the outward edge of the tox-bomb cloud. He threw his rifle down and started grabbing at neck, he couldn't breath, and then a blinding wave of pain came. He put his hands on his knees, gasping for breath, he started to blackout. He tried to call for a medic. The pain became immense. Worst then anytime he could remember, he guessed it was more painful then being born, which in his opinion was the most painful process, strangely his one regret was not being to ask one more question.

Sergeant Soll, providing covering fire for the team assaulting the building, screamed and sprinted, heedlessly of enemy sniper fire, towards Nash. Several other followed suit. When he reached Nash the young trooper he was on his hands and knees, Soll could see blue veins bulging out around the collar of his flak armor. By each hand there were five red lines, a few inches in length, from were Nash had dug his fingers in the concrete, he had torn threw his gloves, finger nails, and finger tips.

"Nash!" Soll bellowed. Nash coughed, a sickening splat of blood and tissue hit the ground. "Dollon! Hurry!" Soll pleaded. Dollon was there a moment later.

"Zek me! Stretcher, get me a stretcher now!" Dollon said, wrestling the now trashing Nash to ground, Nash pushed against the medic's faces with bloody finger tips. Nash's face was a livid red and with dark purple veins bulging immensely, his teeth were clenched and eyes diluted, blood and drool rolled down his chin. Dollon pinned one of Nash's arms to the ground with his knee and pulled out a syringe from his kit and stabbed him in the neck. The soldier went limp within moments. Troopers Gray and D'Est had arrived and unpacked Gray's portable stretcher unit, they helped Dollon and Soll roll Nash onto it. Before they started, Dollon ran a plastic tube down Nash's ruined throat. "Go, now, run!" the medic demanded. Hefting the stretcher up, they began running as fast of they could with Dollon running along side, jabbing more needles in Nash.

"Everyone inside, Madanoch to the front, look out for more traps." yelled Soll. "Olley catch up with Dollon, and get that shoulder looked at." The wounded trooper nodded and shuffled off. Troopers stepped carefully over the remains of their fellow soldiers into the building. One of them muttered, "Dogs-luck". Soll, stopping to pull off their dog tags, was the last though the door, with for one last look at the departing backsides of Olley, Dollon, Gray, D'Est, and Nash, he heart arched. While pragmatic about the lose of life, he hated losing men under his command, and he had never lost so many at once. Eight men gone, veterans all, with three more racing to save Nash's life, and one more stumbling along. _Emperor protect us_, he prayed, trotting after his men.

When Nash walked out the hospital sixteen weeks later, he had two new bionic lungs and a plasteel esophagus and nasal cavities. He did, however, find out why las beams come in different colors, his assumption was both right and wrong, as del Tarn told him. Different technology and different material can manifest beam energy in what looks like different colors, but in reality it's only that those beams reflect different wavelengths of light, which the human eye sees as color.


	7. The Train Stops Here

The Gundogs had been helping round up civilians from farms and townships around the capitol city. Each land train was supported by a platoon of soldiers, fifty troopers. The trains varied in length from fifty to eighty sections. First platoon, Second Company had been "riding the rails", as they joking called it for close to two weeks, a dull uneventful two weeks. They had not seen any signs of the enemy and the closest they got to confrontation had been some shoving matches between stubborn troopers and even more stubborn farmers.

Trooper Beeler elbowed Tristan del Tarn lightly, "Tarny, we're pulling in the Brozbreg, wake up." Del Tarn muttered something and rubbed his eyes with his large bionic hands.

"Gak me …" he said and stretched his mechanical arms out behind his head. Looking out the window, the sun was just barely making its way over the horizon. Beeler got to his feet and slung his las rifle over his shoulder, slowly making his way though the massed crowd. Del Tarn rose and looked down the train, a few seats behind him, standing in the section between trains, were Troopers Finorn, Nash, and Zerzan, the sniper was standing against the wall hugging his long-las. Del Tarn nodded to them and followed Beeler though the quiet, sleeping cabin.

Beeler voxed sergeant Soll, "Sergeant, we're almost to the station. I have Tarny with me, can you send Standish and Delaney down here?"

Soll replied, "Copy Beeler, Standish and Delaney coming to you."

When they reached the other end of the cabin Troopers Lundy and Ulrick were chatting quietly, del Tarn produced a tabac-stick and started smoking.

"Hey Beeler how many more stops?" Lundy asked.

Beeler scratched his chin stubble; waving away the tabac smoke, "I don't know, ask Bethel or Sarge." Lundy nodded, and everyone was quiet until the door next to them opened with a _sweesh_, hulking Standish and a sleepy eyed Delaney walk in. Without a word Delaney found a section of wall to lean on and closed his eyes, Standish however, was smiling and being his usual happy self. Standish was probably the greatest optimist in the Imperium. As great as that attitude was in the trenches, right now his big smile and efforts to engage others in conversation were making his companions want to stab him with their combat knifes.

~ O ~

As the train came rolling up to the platform, they could see a large crowd of people, huddled and waiting in the morning cold. The landtrain came to a rest, and the doors opened automatically. Beeler, and the others stepped out onto the platform, looking to their right, they could Nash, Finorn and Zerzan climbing out, Zerzan turned and climbed the ladder to get on the roof the landtrain, to their left, two train lengths down, they could see sergeant Soll, corporal Bethel, scout-trooper Madonoch, and troopers D'Est and Raven disembark. They heard sergeant Soll yell, "Please leave your belongs and make for the rear of the train, go that way, to the end of the train ..."

The Gundogs assisted where they could to help move people along, but mostly keeping an eye out for trouble. Yellowed-sashed provosts of Zent Prime moved amongst the crowd shouting and separating people from their luggage. More provosts waited at the rear of the train, taking names and finding seating for everyone.

"Trooper!" Called a provost, Beeler, del Tarn and Standish moved forward to see what he needed.

"Problem?" Beeler inquired, several more provosts arrived as well.

"This man refuses to part with his luggage, search it." Demanded the provost.

"Get your hands off his stuff." Growled the man, placing his hands on his hips in a stance of defiance.

The man was a well build, even though he was on the wrong side of his middle ages. His face and frame spoke of years of hard, honest toil. Also, on his neck was a tattoo, some shield with cross rifles, a military tattoo.

"You old guard?" Beeler asked.

"Yeah, 88th Zent Regulars, served more years then you've been alive, boyo. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let one of those yellow bastards dig in my bags." He jerked his thumb at the sour faced provosts. Beeler smiled, he liked the old man. "Good man, how about you let Standish here have a look in you bags and we all can be on your way."

The old man looked around, and after a long moment replied, "That'll do, have at it, son."

~ O ~

Delaney thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something or someone drop off the loading platform onto the tracks below. On instinct he told Lundy to check inside the train, as he climbed down to the tracks to have a look around. Inside, most the refugees had woken up and the moment they saw Lundy, he was barraged with questions. He was waving down their requests when he saw the glass of one of the windows break inwards, instinctively throwing himself down, those instincts undoubtedly saved his life. The massive explosive blow out the windows on both sides of the train, killing almost everyone inside the train and throwing everyone near the train off their feet. Glass and body parts impaled and peppered the crowd masses. The Gundogs got quickly to their feet, backing together and making whatever formation they could, all guns pointing outwards. Suddenly, as if the explosion had been a signal, dozens of cultist threw off there shawls or robes, revealing electric blue clothing, tattoos, and weapons. Shots rang out. The vox went mad.

Lundy opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief knowing he was alive. He could hear moaning and pitiful cries coming from the smoke filled cabin. Suddenly, remembering what had happened, he bolted up right and flung the door on the other side of the train open, and looked out. He could see a running figure making a quick dash. Lundy leapt from the train and bolted after the figure. A quick glance back he saw Finorn running too. As Lundy closed on the figure, a las shot stuck the runner at the knee, separating its right leg in half. The runner screamed and fell. Then Lundy was on him.

Finorn saw the labolt strike and pushed himself harder; he saw the runner howl and fall. He saw the figure roll over with a pistol in his hand. He saw Lundy get shot in the face, Lundy flying backwards, rifle and helmet pitched away. Finorn grabbed the runners arm, and with his knee bent it so it faced ninety degrees the wrong direction, the pistol fell to the ground. The runner's throat was smashed in by his boot a moment later. Finorn scrabbled over to his fallen comrade, rolling him over and seeing that Lundy looked remarkable well for a man who was just shot in the face. In fact, he was not wounded at all, "You all right? You look fine to me."

Lundy blinked and asked, "Say that again?"

"I said, you look fine."

"I know, I just wanted to hear you say it." Lundy said as he sat up, rubbing his head. They both heard shots being fired, "What the zek?" They both stood up, Lundy picking up his helmet, with a black burn mark scorched into the front part of it, and his rifle, using the latter to put a las bolt into the runner's head before setting off to join the fight.

~ O ~

Cham Ulrick pushed his way though the crowd, with Homare and Jima trying to keep up, throwing those not fast enough, out of his way. He came upon cultists shooting indiscriminately at those around them. The body of the women in front of him was blasted and she fell onto him, he grabbed her belt and used her as a human shield until he was close enough to leap out and sliced the head clean off the first cultist with his twenty inch combat knife. He stabbed the second thought the ear, his blade punching clean out the other side. The third cultist rounded on Ulrick with its rifle, attempting to bayonet him; Ulrick blocked the blade with his knife, while drawing out his las pistol, putting three bolts in close formation on the cultist forehead. Homare and Jima joined him, putting single shots into anything wearing electric blue.

Beeler, del Tarn, and Standish formed a triangle, they were on their knees, weapons at the ready. Standish had his las pistol out, his flamer was slung across his back. "Back to the train." Beeler said.

"Oh yes, lets" Standish said.

As they began moving backwards toward the train, shots hit people around them, half a dozen fell to autogun fire, one of the Zent Prime provost was hit the gut, he doubled over, wailing. People were running everyway, the flow pushed against them

"Back! Back away, Gak this!" Brawled del Tarn, pushing people away from him. At his loudest, mechanically amplified voice, he yelled, "Everyone get back NOW!" No body paid him much attention.

Shots came from another direction, one zinging off Standish's flamer-tanks. He quickly took off his promethium tanks, hugged them to his chest, protecting them with one massive arm. The crowd was pushing at them from all directions, crushing them, if one of them were to fall; they would be smashed under foot.

Tristan del Tarn was at ropes end, he made his decision without regret. He smashed his rifle into the terrified face of the citizen in front of him, then slammed the stock into another throat. As much as he hated doing this, he was not going to be pressed to death by a panicking mob. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Beeler looking what he had done, young Beeler, not even a tenth the age of the ex-tech priest, had horror and understanding writing all over his face. Tristan watch him lay into frightened people with his rifle and boots. Tristan did the same, smashing into the crowd around them with his fists. Even Standish, lovable-laughing-smiling Standish, kicked and clubbed unarmed, terrified civilians.

~ O ~

The cultists were few in number and quickly dispatched by the sharp-eyed gundogs, and the aggressive tactics used by Ulrick. However, the damage was down. Over sixty people dead on the platform, another eighty killed on the train, none were gundogs. Hundreds were wounded in the brief, but intense fire-fight. Not to mention the damage done to the train itself.

Soll joined del Tarn, who was under the train, examining the extent of the damage.

"Well?" he asked.

Del Tarn scratched at a section of axle with his metal digit. "Not much damage done here, the explosion liquefied most of the occupants, but no major damage done to train, the machine-spirit is angry, but unharmed." They were silent for a few moments.

Soll nodded, "Beeler told me what happened." Silence. "You did right. Zek it, you did right."

Tristan rubbed his face, leaving a trail of grease across his chin. His hard, grey eyes looked at Soll's dark green ones, "I know I did. You shouldn't worry about me. You need to tell the youths, they did alright. They are the ones who'll need someone to talk to. When it's me or some meatbags, the meatbags lose every time."

Soll was not taken aback by del Tarn's cold attitude, he had encounter it before, but it was his reference to the Beeler and Standish as 'youths' and his use of the word 'meatbags'. Tristan del Tarn was normally so calculating; his very words were chosen with machine-like precision. If he called them 'youths', like Soll's own had father would called him when he was growing up, just how old was Tristan del Tarn? He called the civilians 'meatbags', which is a derogatory term used by members of the machine-god cult to describe non-augmented humans. That was not much of a surprise as rumors about Tristan del Tarn being a tech-adapt have been floating around since the Founding. Soll could fell his old arbite habits resurfacing, he did not resist.

"How old are you del Tarn?" he asked suddenly.

Tristan climbed out from under the landtrain, glanced at the horizon, then looked at Soll's boots, and slowly worked his glare up. Stopping at Soll's eyes. Tristan was judging him, measure him, seeing if he was worthy of telling one of his secrets.

"Tell no one."

"Of course."

Del Tarn paused, "I'm four hundred and thirty eight years, standard."


	8. Home, we go

General Meccap looked on with total, utter bewilderment. Before him land the city if Pyre. Or what was left of it. The city sat in a wide valley, utter destroyed. There was nigh a building standing. Hive stacks toppled to ruin. Tower reduced to stumps. All had been reduced to rubble. Yet, somehow, he knew there were Imperial Guardsmen within the vast rubble pile. In the centre of the once-city, where the temples to the Emperor once stood, was where the soldiers of the Imperium had made the last stand. However, between him and what was left of the hundreds of thousands of soldier who were once embattled here, where dozens of miles of hazardous ruins completely festering with soldiers of the Arch-enemy. He raised his maglens to his eyes and scanned the once-city. Even now he could see flashes of fighting in the city centre. Still after more then four months of siege, the faithful stood strong. Meccap wanted to order his armies to smash forward and relieve whoever was still alive down there. Yet, he could not. His armies were fully extended, exhausted over the three week hard fight-march to reach Pyre. He had only one option left to him. He waved his vox-officer to him, picked up the vox and started to speak, he eyes on the distant flashes of explosions and pin flicks of lasguns.

~ O ~

He ordered his forces to take six hours to rest and regroup, vehicles were to combine fuel and get as many tanks moving as possible. Soldiers slept on the hard ground or ate soup from plastic pouches. At the end of the six hours, the sky above Pyre was lanced with flashes striking down from orbit. Dozens of blazing spears rocketed to the ground, each loaded with a squad of the Emperors most feared weapons. Astartes. Space Marines. The spears struck home, and the Space Marines unleashed hell on the followers of the dark gods. Meccap ordered his armor and infantry to assault the city as well. His goal was the city centre. The Space Marines were ordered to hunt-and-kill everything. They excelled. In less then two days, the approach to the city centre was clear enough for the General to come forward. As he rode in his command Chimera, he listened closely to the vox. His forward units had encountered the besieged Guardsman, their senior office was coming forward. Meccap ordered his tank to the front.

~ O ~

His tank rolled to halt, and Meccap stepped from the boarding ramp, putting on his cap. He glanced around, eyeing the city around him, his old soldier habits still acting up. Around him were his soldiers, members of his original 54th Hellicons, they wore dark green combat gear and many were veterans. He waved a captain over to him, "Captain Taag take me to them." He said. Taag saluted and nodded his head towards a dark opening.

Both Taag and Meccap had to duck their heads and twist their bodies to get into the dark space. Inside he saw half a dozen Hellicons, and the same number of dirty, filthy, stinking, guardsmen. Upon seeing the general enter, the squad drew themselves up, snapping salutes and standing at attention. Meccap smiled and throw back a tight salute, "At ease, boys. I'm the one who should be saluting you. Who's in charge here?"

The soldiers dropped their arms, open their legs wide and placed one hand behind there backs, the other held their rifles. A small, slight man stepped forward, "Colonel Sikney at your service, General." The small man said.

"I'm General Meccap, of the 82nd Army. Where is General Freddick or General Mannerthorp?"

"I'm sorry to tell you sir, but either of the Generals made it. General Freddick was killed during the retreat, and General Mannerthorp during the first month of the siege. I have been in charge since then." Sikney said.

The general nodded, "Ah, well Colonel you …" the general stopped himself. Eyeing the shadowy troopers lurking behind Sikney, he said, "Colonel, will you come with me to my command tank for debrief."

It was not a question.

"Of course, my general," Sikney replied. Then turned to the group of men behind him, "Boortz get the 'dogs up and moving, I want them cleaned, feed, and ready to fight by the time the General and I debrief. Get Lovegood in touch with the medicae," and with a snarl he added, "We aren't done yet." The dirty troopers laughed, a sharp barking sound that made Meccap and Taag glance at each other warily.

Meccap turned and Taag motioned for Sikney to follow him. As Sikney stepped out into the sunlight he cautiously passed his back to wall, and scanned to area around him, his hand on his lasrifle. Outside, Meccap got his first good look at Sikney. He was short and thin, and four months of hard siege had made him even thinner, harder as well. Though from what Meccap had read about Colonel Dorn Sikney of the Adare Gundogs, he was a hard man as it was, and mad as loon, if the rumors were true. Sikney wore the remains of his Adare combat suit. The field grays were filthy beyond belief. His long coat was only held in place by his combat vest, and it looked liked he hand not taken it off in days, if not weeks. It smelled like it too. His face sported a thick, dirty beard.

"You coming, Colonel?" Meccap asked.

Sikney shot him a quick, hard glance, then lowered his eyes, and shock his head. "Sorry sir, of course. It's just been awhile since we could walk around freely." With one last quick glace around then stepped off the wall and followed Meccap to his chimera.

~ O ~

Once inside, Meccap removed his het and sat in the command chair and faced Sikney. "Sit Colonel."

Sikney removed his battered helmet warily and lowered himself onto a stool stiffly. Sikney looked around, seeing several Hellicon troopers going about their work, but by their postures he knew they were listening. Meccap caught his glance and ordered everyone out, but had his vox-officer bring two canteens of water, and a bottle of amesca before exiting. When all the soldiers were gone, Meccap poured two glasses of liquor and held one up. "The Emperor Protects" he said. Sikney held his glass, licked his lips lightly, eyes on the liquor, "Yes … yes, he does," they clinked glasses and downed them in one go.

"Tell me." Meccap said.

Sikney sighed, his body relaxed and he slumped against the bulk head, "General, it was … hard. When I saw the lances in the sky, I prayed they were drop-pods … or an orbital strike, we couldn't have held on for much longer. We have almost nothing left."

"How many are left?" Meccap asked.

"Of the dozens of mis-matched regiments and hundreds of thousands of troopers that started this campaign?" Sikney said, his voice filled with sharp bitterness, "Only some six hundred."

Meccap grimaced.

"Last I knew, this morning there were four-hundred and fifty-six of my 'dogs, only eighteen Colonials, and one-hundred-and-forty Watchers. The Colonials couldn't muster a single officer, not even a sergeant, only Corporal Durrunt, and the Watchers have one Lieutenant left. Kale. "

Sikney paused to drink from the canteen, slowly taking in the water before he continued. "You see, general, the Gundogs are a small regiment, and as such we served as a support regiment in this theatre. When the Dark Ones counter-attacked and drove us into retreat, we were far to rear. As standard retreat orders are for the units nearest the enemy to turn and hold, we were order back to the city and, as we have a reputation for tenacious defense ..." That was one way of putting it, Meccap though. The Adarians were like pit-dogs, once they locked their jaws on to something, short of breaking its jaw, it never let go. Even after death. " … Mannerthorp ordered us up to begin digging into the city, to fortify."

"Us, the Colonials and the Watchers made the city as tight was we could. But, while both of other regiments were large units, each having at least eight thousand soldiers, the Colonials are all but green … and the Watchers are damn good, but are light infantry. With one small regiment, a rookie regiment, and light regiment, we had to hold the city." He chuckled.

"Those first weeks were total hell, sir. I would like to make recommendations for bravery. The Colonials are amongst some of the bravest soldiers I have ever seen, General. They knew both the Gundogs and Watchers are veteran units and more valuable in the defense of the city. They volunteered to hold the outer rings, to slowly be killed. They throw themselves at the enemy, destroying dozens of their armored units. Their losses were terrible, sir. Mannerthrop died leading an assault against the last of the enemy armor. They would have broke through if Mannerthrop hadn't rallied his soldiers and … well … died." Sikney said.

"That was during the first few days of the siege. After that, it was a battle of attrition." Sikney rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I order the soldiers to go one every other day rations, and all water was to be used for drinking and the wounded. No bathing or shaving." Meccap nodded, though he was still displeasured with Sikney's barbaric appearance. "The siege would have ended weeks ago if it wasn't for Plasma-Trooper Tristan del Tarn. He found an old generator, managed to get it working, with which we could recharge the lascells." Sikney smiled at some old memory.

"He'll get a commendation and a medal." Meccap said.

Sikney continued to smile, a glint in his eyes, "Well good luck having his take them, sir. He ardently refuses any kind of accolades. I've been trying for nearly sixteen years."

Meccap waved his hand for Sikney to continue. Sikney talked for over an hour, recounting various details and stories. After the Colonel had finished his first de-brief, Meccap dismissed him and ordered him to report to medicae station. Sikney followed the orders.

After being attended to by medics wearing Hellicon colors, he slinked back to his hole and found senior sergeant Lamm, captain Soll, corporal Ola-Olin, scout-trooper Oomomo, troopers Breo, Delany, Lundy and the Colonial corporal Durrunt lurking in the darkened cellar. They were eating standard issue ration packages, and discussing them as if they were the highest level of gourmet food they had ever tasted. The burnt smelling, poor quality re-caff was, as Lundy put it, "on to ambrosia." Sikney huddled into a corner, smiling and listening to voices he had known for years. It was long before he fell asleep without a worry.

Much later Lamm gently woke Sikney when General Meccap entered the cellar. The Hellicon general pulled Sikney aside and said, "Colonel, contrariety to what you said your troopers in that hole, you _are_ finished here. You are going home."

~ O ~

It had taken the Adare Gundogs nearly eighteen months to get home aboard the commercial transport, _Staffa_. Sixteen years and eighteen months.

They were in high-orbit above Adare, about to prepare to travel to the surface, when Sikney had called the regiment together for a final unit review. He slowly walked around, so many faces were missing. Of the original fifteen-hundred men who set off with him, less than three hundred were still here. True razor-edged, died-hard soldiers who faced everything the nasty galaxy had thrown at them and survived. As it stood, the regiment was standing at only one-third strength, just five-hundred hundred soldiers, well below Imperial Guard levels of sufficient combat strength. The regiment was all that remained of the third replacement cycle, one every five years. Over the sixteen years of fighting the regiment had suffered a 133% fatality rate, that's not counting the wounded or discharged. More than two thousand Adarian men had fought and died in the name of the Emperor. Sikney had the deaths of two thousand soldiers on his soul. He felt heavy with the burden.

"Gundogs," he called, and noticed a small cluster of non-Adarians standing in the ranks. The 10th Esttain Colonials, or what was left of them, a mere eighteen soldiers. With no were else to go, they were folding into the Adarian regiment.

"You are coming home after more than sixteen years. Though only for a short visit. We are to refit, retrain and relax for a year. We are to report to the Founding Barracks, where you all will be processed and given leave for anywhere from three to six months, depending on rank and record. Afterwards, it will be your responsible to begin re-training the new recruits fresh out of preparatory."

The troopers laugh barked out.

"As strange as it may sound, I think this will be one of the hardest battles you will have to face. Be careful when you are about. People will have expectations of you, now that you have traveled far and fought in the Emperor's battles. My only advise is do what you are comfortable with. That is all, report to your drop crafts."

All five hundred men barked in unison, and broke up to board their crafts.

~ O ~

The stands before the empty parade grounds were starting to fill up. A single soldier, dressed in full dress kit sat alone on the far end. Many of Adare's high and mighty were in attendance. The planetary governor, Lord Bolo, now much older, was there dressed in his fine red and blue robes. As were many families. When the appointed time for the unit review and official dismissal arrived and only one soldier was there, the crowd was making their angry and disapproval known. The governor waved the one soldier over.

"Oi, you there, what's going on here!" the governor barked.

The soldier looked up at the giant of a man, and tapped his rank pins on his collar softly, the governor gasped, "By the emperor, Sikney!"

"You might want to have a seat, the Review is about to begin," Sikney said and gestured for Bolo to sit down. The governor did, though more than a little confused.

Sikney approached the podium that was set up before the empty field and cleared his throat.

"Soldiers of Adare, you have fought well! The Emperor loves men who fight with courage and faith, and there are none more courageous and faithful the men of Adare."

Many of the people in the audience shifted with discomfort as Sikney continued with his speech to an empty field. "Know that these people here have come to pay you tribute, to honor you. Show them the sacrifices you have made for them."

As if on cue, soldiers appeared, marching two-by-two, through the field. They were dressed in flawless full dress grey uniforms, with medals glittering and ribbon flapping. However, each soldier, in addition to his kit, carried several helmets by their straps in their hands. The column relentlessly marched towards the stands. The column snaked its way around front of the stands, and as each soldier past the front of the audience, they paused and gently laid each helmet they carried on the ground. Afterwards, the soldiers formed ranks in the fields. This process was long and was done in complete silence.

The last soldier, Lamm, laid four helmets on the ground and presented Sikney with two more, then joined the troopers of First Company, calling the regiment to attention with a vast bellow.

Sikney looked at the helmets in each of his hands, one was old, beat-up, and filthy, the other was brand new, it did not even have the mesh covering over the metal yet. Sikney weighted the helmets in his hands for a moment then turned to face the audience.

"The troopers here do not need to be reminded that they are the ones who served Adare. It is _you_ all who need to be reminded that they served Adare."

He slowly walked over the Governor Bolo, "These helmets represents the men who have died for the Emperor, died to take the name of Adare to the stars." He held up the battered one, "This helmet came from Trooper Nils Bolo the Governor's youngest son, who died less then one year ago, taking a fatal chest wound in our last action." The held up the other, pristine helmet, "This one, however, is obliviously new and never used. This helmet is the same one worn by Sergeant Lucco Bolo, the Governors oldest son. His helmet was never recovered from the fight in which he died, saving his unit for being cut off and destroyed!" Sikney turned and silently presented the helmets to Governor Bolo. The governor took them slowly and started to cry, cradling the helmets to his body as if they were small children.

Sikney walked back to the podium, eyeing the crowd once more, he yelled one word, "REMEMBER!" then turned to face the assembled Guardsman saluted and called out, "Regiment, dismissed."

~ O ~

There was no jubilant cries and spontaneous screaming. Most troopers just turned about and shook hands with the men around them, congratulating them. Some troopers had been on this same field sixteen years earlier. The troopers seemed reluctant to move from the field, it was marksman Zerzan who broke the spell of awkwardness.

He called out, "Eli!" when he saw his wife standing up and waving at him. She jumped down and ran towards him, he scooped her up and their faces pressed together passionately. The cry went up at that, a rough bark. With that the others when in search of family or friends that had come to see them.

Major Boortz walked over to Sikney, who was talking with the governor. "Major," Bolo nodded, his eyes still wet with tears, "I am glad to see you."

"Me too, Governor"

"Boortz has proved impossible to kill," Sikney said with a smile.

"But not by lack of effort on the colonel's part," Boortz replied with a smile as well. He noticed the Governor's eye-brow rise.

Boortz tapped his teeth, "Ceramite, sir," he said, "Had my teeth bashed in with a rock on Morgan's World."


End file.
